


Spice Runs

by anesor



Series: Childe Anakin From the Dark Tower Came [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Slow Build, Vaderkin, all he really needs are racing stripes, anakin has a sweet ship, can former jedi have heart attacks, fugitive!Vader, middle age crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:43:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12205044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anesor/pseuds/anesor
Summary: Sometimes it takes a while until you realize that you are in a dead end position. Darth Vader remembers one relationship, one not to be exploited for the empire and can't believe how patient he has been with empty promises. Without a reason to stay in his hell, Vader chucks it all to do somethinghe wants,close to his heart's ashes. This is not for the show of empire.





	1. Recognition

“We have finished with the last sweep, Lord Vader. The animals fought us to the last, even the ratlings. We’re draining all their electronics, but the neighbors are scuttling away like insects after their interrogation. Any further orders?” The senior Inquisitor bowed low, with that tremor of fear that indicated he was not aching to challenge.

Vader stood over the bodies in the decrepit farm. One or more of a family of spice smugglers had a presence in the Force stronger than normal, he felt them at a distance. Now they were dead from light saber or deflected blaster shot.

He waved the other away as he was not interested in speaking right then.

The little girl’s body held his attention. The brown eyes below brown waves stared into nothing. Even through the color distortion and displays in his mask, the resemblance was striking. A healthy and sweet face, even like this.

This girl was about the age of the daughter he was sure they would have had, just about ten years ago.

He was here, to verify they were not fugitive Jedi and remove them.

His own daughter would have almost surely had a strong presence as well.

But he had no daughter.

He killed Padmé because she betrayed him to Kenobi. And their child died with her.

He wanted to catch his breath, to express and stifle the sob as that old pain smothered this anger. He wanted that moment of freefall and grief he had with his mother. But his respirator would not let him.

Vader had to laugh silently or scream. That betrayer nearly killed him, but he was stronger, quite literally stronger with these prosthetics. But he never felt weaker, unable to even control his own breathing.

A thousand, a million, a billion times he wondered what he could have done differently.

Not killing his reason to live was at the top of the list.

Now he wasn’t sure why he stayed. His family, dead. The war against the Separatists was long over. The Jedi and their Council were dust, unable to disapprove. He didn’t really want the things he had, no matter how much hunger was encouraged.

Killing the ghosts of Padmé or their child was like another death. If there were ghosts, like the howling spirits of the sand seas of his home world, so many thousands would come for _him_.

None would make any offering for _his_ spirit.

The Inquisitor returned. “Message from the Imperial Center, Lord Vader. We are to return.”

Sidious clenched all the power, but he didn’t share or teach anything important. He just played all his students off each other.

Of course they would return, he had been fighting almost non-stop for fifteen years. When he left the farmhouse, he lit it on fire, unlike the public show for his wife’s death. Then he entered his personal ship as the others lifted off.

His grief should be more private.

His family was dead.

He never truly grieved. Pretending month after month, year after year that his wife and baby were just out of sight, waiting for him to return from the war.

But

the war would _never_ end and they would ever wait for him.

Vader sat in his personal craft and finally lifted off.

Not toward the Imperial Center.


	2. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Displeased, Vader elects to take a vacation without mentioning to his Master. But planning ahead was never a strong point with him...

Vader always felt freer in flight. Demands were far, far away and he could breathe freely, even now. He often paid for indulging, directly or indirectly, by his Masters, but it was worth it.

Now he was a blackness in the blackness of space. He spun his ship along the major axes, taking in the limitless dark, sprinkled with stormy stars and pulsars and nebulas. Taking it in, enough to feel drunk on the galaxy and currents in the Force.

Everything was simpler out here.

When he went back, Sidious would punish him, humiliate him, detach him to serve under some idiot. There was unrest and a scattering who still fought against the Emperor’s rule, but Vader’s efforts had been only show for years. Not necessary to bring peace and stability.

_What did he want?_

A few minutes of thought and he knew. He wanted his _family,_ _even if all he could do is mourn them._ His wife, his unknown child who never even lived, and his mother. His mother deserved more than a stone, blasted by the sands. Padmé had a beautiful tomb, that he could only bear to visit once.

He nearly fled after viewing the holo on the sarcofigus, with the suppressed evidence of their child. He could not claim that she was his wife, let alone their child.

Palpatine had no wife or children and never _understood_ anything.

His Master ordered that he never return again. Not that he wanted to, he wanted to remember when she was alive and they were happy in love. Nor would he return to where his mother died.

Not in this life.

Vader would build a fitting monument, some fitting place where she should have been. Some place that was beautiful for her.

He could order it easily, hide it among the various military construction budgets.

But the memorial would be cold, a show. And, once finished he would not be able to visit it any more than Padmé’s. Lord Vader, the Emperor’s Fist, had no family. He lived for the good of the Empire.

He had no species or race, he did not bleed, he did not grieve.

Vader wasn’t sure he _could_ weep anymore.

But he wanted to, he needed to.

Despite that want, his breather kept to its steady pace,

When enough time had paced that the need had faded, he decided that he must oversee the construction himself. And if Vader was too conspicuous, that _would_ be changed.

His limbs were only tools, like a spanner or his saber, his was the guiding mind.

He finally set course for a mining world, a corrupt one with the wealth for top-flight work. They were the _easiest_ to control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't know that quests change you. He might see that as a good thing. These chapters are running much shorter, maybe he has an attention span problem too?


	3. Flunky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he can build a memorial for his mother not colored by Imperial trappings, Vader must be less conspicuous.

Shu-Torun reminded Vader of Mustafar, just a bit more lively with mining and useless nobility. The mines were clustered around cooled vents of dead, or mostly dead, volcanoes. Every generation one of the greedier mining houses went too close to a boiling lava dome or built too deep on a lava lake just to.

He landed at the royal spaceport only hours before the capital’s dawn. Fewer witnesses, the better for his plans. The only question was whether it was quicker to control the peacock nobility or just find the best medical center and work with that.

He made his presence quieter and boring, better tool to catch traitorous behaviors and words.

Striding through the soaring, gilded reception area, dozens of workers instead of droids polished and swept the unmarred hall. Some showed signs of old injuries, but they did not meet the eyes of other people.

These workers were ignored by early port personnel. They cringed when any got close or spoke to them.

He knew that fear.

He’d lived that fear.

Memories enraged him at the brief interactions.

Vader stalked away, seeking the port clinic and its senior medic. She sent him to the clinic of one of the richer dukes at a different cluster of construction and mining. Her memories were simple to blur.

The Rubix mines had more non-humans than Vader had seen at the spaceport. That was unusual, as spaceports were usually more diverse. He walked along the open hallways and spiral ramp and saw more non-humans and they looked more ragged than the ones at the port, making his lips curl behind his mask.

The clinic was nearly empty, a worn and dry-looking Mon Calamari was picking through a shipping crate, frantically, _before_ she spotted Vader.

The terror when she saw him was even clearer. She shoved the crate into the face of a human boy, making it crack. “File in my personal cabinet, idiot,” she hissed as he fled in fear. Then she bowed low. “Lord Vader, how may we assist you today?”

The Sith leaned on her with the Force as he spoke. “How much experience do you have with reconstruction after trauma?”

“I repair extensive damage from races and accidents. Workers survive incidents and usually regain function, or at least most of it.” She was both proud and arrogant, but the beginnings of instability were deep in her.

His smirk unseen by the healer, he prodded. “And how much have you accomplished with injuries to the Duke’s family when it profits you more?”

“There,” her pride swelled. “There _I am a god._ The Duke’s daughter was passenger in a race. The driver died, but the girl had a full recovery. Well, her facial appearance is not the same, but she’s rich enough it won’t affect her future.”

“Show _me_ the records.”

She balked, stuttering about privacy regulations. Still she produced the records quickly after pressure and Vader was impressed at the destruction of the legs and skull from the swoop bike accident. The notes indicated her youth helped seed cellular material to speed integration of the matrices of skin and organs. The longest consequence was delays in the young Bixene’s maturity.

That was not his concern. He had been seeking upgrades so he could breathe better, be less conspicuous in height and noise. All of _his_ modifications to his hand had always been mechanical, not really understanding the details of advanced healing techniques.

That was an error, to think this Master wanted his best health and effectiveness.

“Rummib Hu. _You will begin_ plans for repairs to my legs and organs. _You will not mention_ me or the scope of repairs to anyone. I want a plan of action and schedule by tomorrow. _Do you understand your instructions?_ ” Vader leaned harder on her mind, pushing fear and greed.

“Yes, Lord Vader.” She might not fully understand her danger.

Vader had not yet decided if she would live.

  



	4. Reboot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader's upgrades are involving more than tinkering, and he is less than comfortable trusting his doctor.

Vader did a full maintenance on his engines as he waited for preparations to satisfy his demands. He was not pleased that he could not be conscious for some of the work, the healer was very sure it would distract her.

The Force did not warn him that she would betray him. But that did little to calm him even as he went under for the first upgrade.

Even as he fell into unconsciousness, he thought he felt a slim, calloused hand grip his comfortingly.

When he woke, he took a clear breath without the respirator and his eyes shot open to see colors.

Hu was tired and satisfied. “As soon as I’m sure your lungs are stable, we’ll apply the artificial skin and seed it with your healthiest cloned skin cells. The follicle banks should be numerous enough by then to plant, as Senators and Dukes pushed that technology to a peak centuries ago. Then the bacta tank for you.”

It seemed like forever since he could take a breath, a deep breath. He almost had to force it larger than his lungs could hold. His muscles seemed stiff from atrophy and disuse.

The yawn was another first.

“Very good. Your body remembers what to do, sir.”

Vader coughed a little before he spoke. “I want to be awake in the tank...” His voice felt wobbly.

Hu’s amusement was clear. “I recommended against it, Lord Vader. Frustration at being trapped will not aid your recovery, that has been known for many centuries. Biomedical techniques are still recovering, I fear.”

He frowned. “Recovering?”

“The medcorps took care of the worst cases on many worlds. I’d almost give my arm for their lost case records alone. I still…” She shook her head. “Nevermind, there are limits in replacement alone. Shock and fear kill too many before replacements can be finished.”

Vader frowned, annoyed that he could not get the best. _“_ _I will be awake.”_

Boredom choked out the annoyance in the tank. He monitored Hu and the timid Danhect as they treated miners and higher ranked nobles’ injuries. He thought about his life. And he tried to remember his mother.

His memories of her death had almost overwritten all the best parts of his childhood: lullabies, tired smiles, and soft finger ruffles through his hair. She worried about his getting hurt while racing and was so proud when he won his own freedom, unknowing. He’d never felt much for the Lars, but their home _felt_ like his mother.

No threat approached him as he healed, skin and organs. Breathing fed him more than the tinny, medicinal stink of the bacta he floated in. For hours at a time he floated, not thinking about anything in particular, just counting his breaths and varying the depth and length.

He could feel the Force supporting him and giving him strength. Vader felt he could draw on more if someone came here to threaten him, and smiled to himself at _the pain_ they would feel at underestimating him.

“Lord Vader?” Hu was less confident.

Vader turned to look through the bacta and activated the mic. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no, sir. I want to confirm how long you wish to remain here. You are healing very quickly, so I’ve upgraded my time estimates if you want everything done, down to a year.”

That made Vader frown. “I do not wish both arms unusable at the same time. Does that change it?”

“That would take longer then. Touch will take longer. Legs are simpler, but you will want both legs to be the same. Unless you always were this tall?”

His voice got very flat. “How long for the legs or an arm?” He wasn’t as sure he could remain hidden here the entire time.

“You’ve been in treatment for two months, and will need to strengthen after the work is done.” Hu looked at the ceiling. “Six months for the legs, four months for each arm. As well as you are healing, you don’t have the reserves to work on more than two at a time. May I publish this?”

That angered him and he leaned against her to make this _clear._ “ _ **No.**_ Not until I review it and give permission.” Another breath passed. “Start with the legs. I have work to do.”

“Yes, Lord Vader.” She bowed.

He could begin construction before he was done. As soon as he decided where.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change will never be fast when internally driven. His theme for the last decade has been Peggy Lee's "Is That All There Is?"


	5. Rearmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader enlivens his boredom when some arrogant nobleman interrupts his repairs.

  


Out of the kriffing tank soon and Vader really wanted off of this mining world to breathe clean air and walk on grass barefoot again.

The nanosurgery unzipped scarred tissues so new cells would grow, bone and nerve. Vader realized that he must meditate to pass the time, but if he dwelled on his anger as his Master taught, the tank began to fracture. That would make this all pointless.

So he remembered and gripped those memories close to him. Meeting Padmé, when he was still so small that she seemed tall to him. And so so beautiful, remembering his angel still took his breath away. She wasn’t as tall as Jinn, who slyly got his freedom. Kenobi seemed only in the background, not enough a factor in the whirlwind to annoy him. He skipped forward until they met again, drinking in his happiness and excitement to be with her.

Vader refused to remember when they last met, choosing to think of her apartment, when he thought he could _make_ things the way _he_ wanted.

That was disabused. First by Kenobi and his betrayal, then by his Master’s demands. Sidious had not come after him and he had ignored the irritation and anger that came through the shaft of their connection.

He still had not chosen a location for the memorial.

The ore-duke had finally noticed the increased spending and Hu was useless in securing approvals on her own. Vader planned to replace at least one arm and Hu was competent and diligent.

Rubix was an arrogant slaver, who bought slaves from any race that was strong and had good constitutions. Many corpses passed the clinic through before cremation, fewer lived. He nearly spit when he came down to confront Vader’s doctor.

Vader would have preferred to choke him with his own hands, but could not while he floated in the tank. “You _will_ be quiet, Rubix.”

Blank-faced, the noble echoed Vader.

“The medical center is uninteresting...” Then, “The clinic is a necessary part of doing business.” “Hu’s work is a credit, you don’t want others to know.” “You will avoid the clinic.” Vader pressured the man’s mind, caring little if it broke, as long as his orders were obeyed.

When the big man left, Vader was relieved that nothing about his current appearance would reveal his identity. Artificial arms detached, and legs now narrowing into ankles, he looked like an unlucky miner.

“Thank you, Lord Vader,” Hu’s skin was mottling with fear.

“He should not interrupt again as long as you do not provoke him. I will return for more treatment after I attend to important business.”

She almost interrupted, but only said, “If you are not finishing the course of treatment, I do have a better hand and arm for now.”

Vader lifted his older prosthetic right arm from the tray, ready to throw it against a wall.

The healer stepped forward, breaking his line of sight. “My Lord! Not _that_ one, an older model, it must have been experimental. The left one has far less dexterity, flexibility, and sensitivity. I can do better than the left, but not as good as the customized right.”

That made Vader set his jaw as he set it down safely. _“I did_ much of the customization.”

She looked surprised, but stayed quiet.

“I want out of here as soon as I can get around with braces. I will be back, but it will be months. You may publish if you ensure anonymity: hopper crash, mining incident, whatever. Do not link the injuries’ extent to one patient. _Separatists linger._ ”

A bit under a year after he arrived on the mining world, Vader was glad to totter away from the stone spire. His ship was long gone, conscripted or stolen, he did not care. He had decided during the months of boredom.

His first choice for a beautiful place was to build a memorial, well away from Sidious’ original home base on the opposite side of that beautiful world.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do know where I'm going, but this is a journey he's doing _alone_. Those who would have helped him are gone.
> 
> Updates should be Tuesday-ish and Friday-ish, except during NaNo.


	6. Off This Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader needs transportation and to become less visible. But he's not at all sure how to ace a job interview without breaking the interviewer's mind.

Making his way to the port, Vader got angry at how slow he moved outside the tank. He was still vulnerable if he was attacked, but his vision was far sharper and he could breathe again. He had months for earlier repairs for settle. The HUD in the helmet had its uses, but he did fine without one for years.

First he had to get a ship. The Force warned him against a one man. Most ships leaving here were ore ships heading to the Core and the Imperial Center. That left yacht crews, whose ships practically screamed ‘attack me.’ And smugglers who had their own reasons to keep secrets.

He almost started on selecting a crew and ship when he remembered his ID was surely flagged. Later, much later, he arranged something basic supposedly countersigned by the idiot duke. An engineer and pilot sent to the mines for fripping some noble’s child.

He always hated new names and let others do the talking. Pulling two names from old corpses for an identity who had a spotty record since the war, escaping from worlds that Vader knew were bureaucratic messes from his own missions.

Four nights he visited spacer Cantinas, looking for a ship that was headed the right way, needed crew, and weren’t that curious.

At the bar, a bearded Bothan wore worn clothing of a better quality than he saw here outside the Duke. More importantly...Vader frowned. He could feel that _she_ had business with the bartender.

“Brandy, and some good stuff, Slick.” She tapped the counter. “Got a reason tonight.”

_Talk you little backstabber, tell me why there’s a hush in the Force around you._

An almost dusty bottle was hauled out by Slick. “Celebrating or grieving, friend?”

The Bothan tossed the glass back without spilling a drop or mussing a hair. “Both, we landed safely, but it’s mostly grieving. We lost our second, a savvy Torgruta who knew engines.”

He felt the grief, both the Bothan’s and a pang from his own heart. She was okay, she _had_ to be. Even when he failed his promises to her, too.

“What happened?” The bartender either knew them or professional sympathy.

Diction precise after a second drink, she shook her mane. “Hydrolic system blew. Some kriffing part punctured a vein and he bled out before we even knew he was injured. The Captain found his corpse...”

Vader released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and only half listened to the others as they muttered about less than legal cargoes popular on _other_ ships.

The Bothan had no blur from her drinks as she ate some sad free food and watched out over the quiet crowd. She spotted him and his slow drinking.

Vader met her eyes. “ _I’m_ a mechanic.”

“Are you, now? And why should I care? More importantly, what makes it worth my crew to take on your problems?”

Running his fingers through his darker hair, Vader said, making her believe him. “Left my enemy in the Core a while back. I’m gonna build a memorial for my mother somewhere nicer than where she died. And I can fix _anything._ ”

Her mouth twisted. “How’d you end up with a droid skeleton then?”

Vader looked away for a second, looking for something less than truthful. Then met her eyes. “Got angry with one of the local snooty spawns and got to work an exciting job in the mines for my sentence. Then you get out. Still gaining strength, but fixing things isn’t running a race. I’ve worked on ships, droids, racers, weapons, and everything in between.”

She was interested, but suspicious.

Vader pushed a little. “I don’t want attention, especially Imperials.”

“We run illegal cargo on occasion. You okay with that?”

“I won’t use the stuff.”

Her sudden frown wasn’t on her face. “You can’t fight?”

He shook his head. “Not recently. I don’t even have a blaster right now, but I fought pirates and survived.”

“I meant Spice and weapons. When we can’t find other cargo. Medical supplies are safer, but half the loops are usually short cargo.” She watched his face.

But Vader had learned finally how to look calm, and waved his remaining prosthetic hand. “Don’t care all that much, just want to avoid problems.”

“Okay, I’m the First Officer of the _Distant Star_ if you saw our papers, but Second is our lowest ranked crew. If you’re interested, you’d get a fee, even if we don’t make a profit, a share if we do. You interested?”

Vader smiled only a little. “Dyloj Hullwred, Dyl.”

Another breath to smother his longing. “I’m a pilot, too.”

“Who isn’t?”


	7. Distant Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it still a moving meditation during ship repairs, when you don't care about serenity?

Vader’s hands had twitched when he went forward with Dath Day’luh to meet the Aqualish with a broken tusk, who was the captain.

The Captain turned to his First with a humid puff emitting from around his collar. “You got us a human, Dath? There’s enough without work for the last age. Don’t you all have the Empire?”

Vader frowned and crossed his arms, but he did not feel an impending attack. “No. Don’t want it.”

“He’s running like everyone, Huk. And Hullwred can talk to the pissy ports where we can get medical cargoes and safer profits because the Imp suck-ups like humans better.”

When the Captain nodded, Vader relaxed, too. “Dath told you it was flat fee then a share if we profit? First run is just a fee, until we’re all sure you’ll work out.”

“Dyl will work out, I feel sure.” The Bothan patted Vader’s arm.

Vader was surprised at the contact and _looked_ at her. Then he noticed a flicker of a presence in the Force, nothing controllable, but there.

“I have no specific ambitions. I enjoy tinkering, and love flight more.” He considered adding something else, but only took a deep breath.

“Fine,” the weathered Aquaish waved his hand as yet another puff came from around his neck. “See what you can do to get us space-worthy. I want to lift in two days, see Dath for anything you need.”

She led him back. “He and Busa were very close.

Vader didn’t _need_ to feel sorry for the Captain or his dead Torgruta friend. He was just _using_ this crew to get to Naboo.

* * *

After dropping his satchel and medical bits in his locker, Vader started with the power and hydraulic systems, humming at times as he found anything interesting. The tension that killed the last mechanic got the first attention, he didn’t want a repeat for himself.

The patch was adequate, but he wanted to tweak the placement so any failure wasn’t lethal in the future. Nothing else seemed urgent, but he could feel that one coupler would fail soon, and he put that on the list for immediate repair.

Some tools he preferred were also missing, and he put them on the higher priority list, along with backups and some rawer parts.

Vader wondered if the ship could afford that much, he wasn’t sure how profitable a small ship was. The reaction to these necessary costs would tell him.

Tired, after his first all-nighter in many months, Vader gave the repair list to Dath. “These are the urgent items, though that coupler is going to fail very soon.”

Dath frowned when she read the list. “I already know about most of these, but that coupler tested fine a week ago.”

“I _know_ it’s going to go soon. This isn’t even my list to upgrade and improve performance.”

“You seem pretty sure.” She scratched her beard absentmindedly.

Vader restrained himself, the feelings of dejah vu making him clench both fists for a long moment. “I _started_ working on race engines as a youngling. _I’m sure._ ”

Dath looked abstracted for a moment. “Do you know weapons systems, too? Think you could rebuild ours?”

“Bigger limit is the shielding. Been working with them for most of my life.”

“Give me your wish list, broken out by improvement. Pirates have run wild, with nothing to lose. They’re feeding the slave worlds without the Imps noticing or caring.”

Vader frowned.


	8. Land of Water and Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader makes his way to where things were best.

The smugglers had a layover on what Vader thought was a just another asteroid in the Enarc system. Someone hollowed it out and there were another half-dozen ships refueling and restocking inside a very recent construction.

Captain Huk wasn’t happy at the port fees for refueling, but the port-master was willing to promise almost anything for fresh, non-surplussed food.

From here, Naboo was practically minutes away, along with its Imperial presence, so high for so far in the Mid-Rim. Their cargo of rare metals was slated to be sold for construction, more decorative excess for Theed. The gold was a bulky mass compared to what he used to burnish his old droid.

Vader wondered what happened to them. Artoo usually found his way back to Anakin on his own.

Had he been destroyed by the last Jedi, or _Kenobi_? Because of him? Or had the droid’s luck finally run out and he was destroyed, or he was wiped? Had he forgotten Anakin and was working some planetary defense fighter like he was before they met. Artoo wasn’t needed on Naboo for that anymore, not on the Emperor’s home world.

Or he could have been junked.

Vader would keep an eye out while he was in port or moving about.

But it wasn’t likely.

Theed was too familiar, more might recognize Vader’s resemblance to the Jedi. His mother’s memorial should be far from human settlements and the Emperor’s home. He’d have to find out if the Gungans had their own spaceport, so he could avoid Theed in the future.

The metals sold for a good price, and Dath was commissioning fresh grown food for Enarc.

Fourth day in port and Huk chased him off ship to ‘get bedded.’

Vader did not want to explain that his wife was buried here, so he found the nearest park to breathe clean and bright air and watch people go by. Young couples and mothers with infants didn’t burn him as much as they had before. With little interest he watched a virtual squad of little boys race past to a fountain.

“Natler! Anakin! Time for dinner!”

Vader swung toward the voice and saw the boys race back to the pregnant woman.

“Can’t we stay with our friends a little longer?” The brown haired one begged, the smaller fair haired one was less clear in his speech.

The mother noticed him watching and hid beginning concerns. “No, not today. Come along. You have classwork before bed, boys.”

The older boy seemed old to beg like that, maybe fourteen. Too old for foolish things, and Vader’s lip curled.

He carefully checked the Holonet and took a transport to Jan-gwa city after getting an ornate rebreather fitted to conceal part of his face. By the time he watched the waterfall like any tourist, he heard another Anakin being called back to order.

The father of the latest was about his own age and tapped his leg with annoyance at the youngling. That feeling wasn’t deep.

Vader modulated the snarl he wanted to use. “Is that not the name of a traitor Jedi?”

“He helped the Queen save Naboo from invasion. Whatever happened, he was a hero then.” He spoke apologetically and didn’t look Vader in the eyes, as if he had said it many times before.

That left Vader unsettled. He looked for a memorial or planning board. But first a morbid curiosity made him visit the census office instead. Naboo was an orderly world, and was one of the most prosperous worlds, now.

The number of those named surprised him. A clear majority were nearing twelve, standard, but ages ranged from infants but some in their early twenties.

They weren’t family, but he wondered about their lives, what meaning that name had anymore. What meaning it had to their mothers and fathers.

What did it mean to him?

After a less then fruitful meeting with the human bureaucrat, Vader was so tempted to force the construction, but unlike Hu, there was no competence to build on. He desired a builder who knew how to accomplish what he wanted.

Returning to the _Distant Star,_ Captain Huk looked angry himself. “Another standard week before the fruit is ready to ship! And you still look like someone kicked your tooka.”

“Looking for a builder. No luck.”

After another pause where the humidifier puffed, Huk paused. “Why don’t you find a memorial you like and find out who built it? They usually leave a plaque and some companies last centuries.”

Vader smiled. That would be much simpler. His first thought was to visit Padmé, no one would care about Dyl, the small-time mechanic.

A sleep shift and Anakin found transport to her memorial.

As he got closer, he had trouble breathing and sounds seemed to echo. It took another transfer to realize that he wasn’t the only one on the same pilgrimage. A group of students, mostly rich little schoolgirls with Alderaan accents kept chattering about Padmé’s life.

He wanted to correct them.

He wanted to forget the daughter that was never born.

More than that he wanted them to shut it.

When the guides led each group in their very practiced speeches, but he dawdled inside as groups came and went.

Late afternoon when few remained, Vader felt a warning from the Force and turned to face the guide.

“ _You’re worth a fortune Skywalker._ The last Jedi unaccounted for.” She had two blasters and was nearly silent in the Force.

The hiding place of his light saber, was too low for quick draw. He dropped and rolled for cover behind Padmé’s effigy and rose with a snarl and saber shining red in his hand. He blocked the shots back at the fool, his anger swelling.

The last reflected shot hit her face first, to his satisfaction.

Core sec and manhunts and his heart was racing.

Hiding his saber, he fired his own blaster at the space where the hunter stood, and then an extra shot or two at the dying woman. He sank into the Force, pushing at the remaining cameras. More failed only seconds after the last shot, even as he heard sparks and overloads spreading.

Vader waved the access panel open as soon as he found it, forcing himself to slow his breathing. Tool belt and diagnostic plugged in, he checked the recording. The sound had to go and sections blurred. Her first shot was left intact, his finding cover, his returning fire were shorted after other edits. Most importantly, his appearance and uniform filtered darker, Windu didn’t mind.

He would _hate_ it, and Vader smiled.

This was a _patch,_ and he looked at Padmé one more time.

It would be a long time before he could come back and he gazed at her effigy, missing her like it was only yesterday. Wishing he had never raised his hand at her, never sealed his doom.

As much as he admired her memorial, his mother’s could not be made near here. The bounty hunters were like swarming insects. Most useless, but enough and he would be chained again.

_That would not be._

_-I’m sorry, Angel. We should have run, the three of us.-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are getting longer, so this story will post Thursday-ish, for the most part.


	9. Retrenchment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His first choice a bust, Vader needs to be better prepared for bounty hunters and find a new destination.

Vader made his way back to port, doubling back and settling in ambush spots twice and watching for anyone following him. He was late getting back to the _Star_ _,_ grimy and exhausted.

The ship’s owner was sweating over stasis packed crates of food. “Bout time you got back. I thought you jumped ship instead of finding a whorehouse. Help me with this, we lift in two hours.”

That was early and Vader exhausted, but leaving now very good. He forced his limbs to move and shoved the crates into solid packed masses nearly filling the entire cargo hold. Limbs sore even after he supplemented his muscles with the Force, Vader dropped into the crowded niche where he kept his sleep pallet. He wanted the quiet more than he wanted to share the tiny crew cabin.

The Bothan, Dath, toed him out of a black sleep. “Unloading time, Dyl. I stalled negotiations long enough for your sleep shift, but our docking fee gets steep again if we don’t vacate now.”

Vader groaned, not even opening his eyes, his body as heavy as steel.

“This hurts me more than you. I’d rather shove you in the refresher right now, as you really reek. Get moving and later you can wash, eat, and sack out.”

The human flopped over and looked at the ceiling for a moment, idly wondering if it was worth the work and lost concealment to kill them and take the ship… But then the _Distant Star_ would still be stuffed to the gills with cargo and he’d _still_ have to move it.

As soon as he sat up, the First moved toward the cargo hold. Taking a deep breath, Vader removed the braces finally and climbed to his feet. He’d repair them and put them in the medical storage as soon as he was sure he was done with them. 

They’d nearly popped in the fight, unable to last in the fight. He had to depend on his own legs now.

Anakin grinned as he flexed his legs with a deep knee bend, testing their strength. _They were his._

A shout rang down the short hall from the hold and he hurried over.

A few more days and they went back to skirting the edges of the Mid-Rim as they went planet to smuggler’s base to moon with various cargoes. 

Vader had to admit his reactions were not fast enough on Naboo, and he began to train again whenever there was room in the hold. Finishing a bare hands kata, he was surprised when the Bothan was watching.

“You look pretty good. Were you an Imp soldier in that white armor?” 

“No!” Vader exploded and then took a deep breath. “I’m a little tall to be a Stormtrooper. I held several ranks in the old navy.”

Her hum held some doubt at what he said.

He stared at her and rushed to fill the silence. “I have things to do, and the Navy doesn’t really _do_ discharges anymore-”

“Not my business what it was. I’m a little surprised, though. I thought maybe you were one of those rebels on the run.”

That made Vader laugh. “No, no. They are _fool_ _s_ _._ The Empire will crush that weak remnant of the Separatists sooner or later.”

Dath leaned back against the hull with a smile. “The Imps must be doing something very wrong then. There’s more rebel actions as years go on. If they keep getting crushed, where do they come from? And why?”

He frowned. “You’re a sympathizer. _I don’t want_ the notice.”

“Neither do I. I’m not doing a kriffing thing for either side. They can keep killing each other. That doesn’t mean I’m blind to the changes. Naboo is one of the quiet worlds for Mid-Rim, but it’s almost sterile now, lifeless and wealthy.

“My wife died there… years ago.” Anakin had not meant to say that.

She paused and said sympathetically, “I’m sorry. I wondered why you wanted to go there where everyone’s closely watched.”

“I thought of building my mother’s memorial near my wife’s, but it didn’t work out.”

Dath checked a padd. “We’re due to swing back to Enarc in a couple of months, but we’re heading inward for a while. You willing to play point man if we go into the Core?”

“Not as much where there’s a Navy presence. And _**I**_ should pilot in the Core.”

That surprised the female and she smoothed her embroidered vest with twitching fingers. “The Captain prefers piloting himself. He sacrificed much to get this one when they were getting dumped on the market, and more to customize it.”

Anakin didn’t argue that. “It was fast, it’s _faster_ now. But I’ve piloted all kinds of ships in battles and this doesn’t have enough shields for a serious fight.” _He wanted to fly._

Dath said, “We don’t want to look for fights. That’s why speed is top priority, then shields. Captain Huk isn’t going to trust someone without a combat record.”

And Vader didn’t trust them with the truth and thought about what he wanted to reveal and when to push. “The Navy just isn’t going to share my record with anybody. I was on several ships during the war, _the Impavid_ and _the_ _Integrity_ and this sweet little G9 freighter.”

“Those were big ships.” Her surprise did not show on her face. “So you must have seen Jedi.”

Vader’s face twisted. “I saw them. I was glad to see them burn. Arrogant bastards.”

So ended their talk, with the First preoccupied and looking to leave. 

And that left Vader frustrated and further from piloting. He pushed on the First with the Force. “I don’t _need_ to show proof of my skills...”

She shook her head, her mane rippling. “ **You** don’t need to prove your skills to me, just the Captain.”

“I’ll take _copilot_ then. I’ve been a high speed pilot for over twenty years.”

She nodded and moved away.

He started another drill.


	10. Land of Hope and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaderkin travels to another pleasant world in the Core with shining mountains and forests. Maybe Alderaan could hold Shmi's memorial.

_ Alderaan.  _ _ Jewels of the Mountains. Peaks shining bright in the sun. Land of beauty, grace, skill,  _ _ a peace to soothe the most troubled heart. Adventure, exploration, and spiritual journ _ _ ey _ _ s for the most discerning spirits. Even  _ _ the  _ _ spaceports command the most majestic views of vistas above and below, and far more bounty can be found for visitors willing to plan and open themselves to  _ _ peaceful  _ _ joy echoed from old loves and new friends…  _ _ - _ _Suraus’ Guide to the Core_

The tourist brochure worn from Captain Huk and Day’luh’s study, was stuck to a corner of the console. 

Vader didn’t need it, nor did he mention that fact to his shipmates. He stayed quiet in the copilot seat, content for the moment. All his earlier visits to Alderaan were brief, both before and after, and he concentrated on keeping his flight smooth and unremarkable.

One of the few things he missed about Vader was his upgraded Actis. He felt more free than he was, and all the controls answered only to him. Now was a different kind of freedom free from Jedi _and_ Sith, and he wasn’t anxious to be collared again.

Their cargoes had sent them world to world, moving toward the Core, until some royal order sent a sealed case with a greater security handshake at both ends. Dath and Huk would spend a day or two making contacts and hustling regular work. Dyl had no skill there.

Finally, Vader stepped away from the dock and into the clearer air. Only a few mountain tops were higher than this one, that had been shorn off to make the spaceport. He knew the slopes and valley below the port became a green mass of forest that led to meadows and seas.

Not that even his height could see that from here. The spaceport was connected to rest of the capital by rail and speeder and he wanted to see more than the anonymous port facilities.

He reached the exit gate, ignoring the large posted list of port regulations, they were all the same trivia. Peaceful and green sounded like a good place for his mother.

Vader did not get to the gate before other travelers leaving port, so he stood there and drummed his fingers on his crossed arms. The proctors asked a few questions to most, Alderaan natives who were quickly waved through. 

He examined the formal chamber, and noted the large portraits high on the wall. The queen looked much the same as he last saw her. Organa looked older and more tired, perhaps due to his clandestine activity which seem to have resulted in the young Organa girl in the portrait, who wasn’t the queen’s daughter. A formal holo was captured at a refugee camp, talking to a group that looked ragged. Bit they seemed to be doing well enough.

Some visitors today were turned aside, but one young male Torgruta was arrested. Vader didn’t hear what the problem was, but he could feel the fury as he was escorted away by a security guard and a squad of droids.

He felt a pang at seeing the boy dragging he feet, nearly shaking in his anger. But Vader didn’t give a damn, aside from the line shortening.

The bored official asked the usual questions of name, origin, ship, and purpose for leaving port. Dyl’s reasons were honest, minus the memorial plans.

It remained boring until the local pointed to the table and said, “Your weapons, Mister Hillwred.”

“What?” Anakin had to protest. “I never...”

Another, female, security agent appeared. “We understand other worlds allow lethal weapons, but Alderaan has believed in peace and cooperative solutions. You have several weapons. Place them on the table and you are guaranteed to get them back when you leave.”

He cursed within his head as he carefully removed his blasters and an assortment of small weapons. “I’m giving you all my weapons...” He concentrated and projected his obedience, focusing on his irritation to distract them from his trickery.

The knives and vibroknife made thunks on the counter as he grit his teeth.

The jaded female in the security gear watched him as the younger one said with surprise. “He’s giving you all his weapons.”

A flimsi receipt ejected onto the counter and the senior one made an _only_ formal smile. “Remember this restriction next time, mister. Your ship is safe enough for your _weapons,_ but don’t bring any of your stinking crud, spice-head.”

Vader growled back at the insult. “I’m as much a spice-head, as you’re a traitor jedi.”

The other weapons did not matter _that_ much, Vader thought as he stalked away with his hidden saber. Still he choked back his rage at the two-faced port rules, his boots hitting the path with heavier stomps. He remembered Organa using non-lethal _blasters,_ and no one looked twice at him when he carried a light saber openly as jedi or sith. 

A quick tram ride and he was reaching the edge of Aldera and the view down over the forest and hills helped to finish his anger. It grew easier to breathe calm and feel the warmth of the sunshine and pleasant weather at slower tram speeds.

The delay cost him the daylight as businesses were beginning to close, or at least state ones. A quiet inn and he checked the local holonet. News from the Imperial Center was much the same as when he was there, the only news in the last year was a new Sith at the Emperor’s side, huge and black just like Vader. A moment of discomfort about that and he searched for cemeteries and memorial parks. He’d like to…

A strong warning reached him from the Force, and he stopped to check his inn and surroundings. It had been months since the last strong warning. A mugger in the last port was barely more annoying as a stubbed toe.

Not that he had enjoyed experiencing _those_ again.

The danger was not close, nor was it clear. He settled into an old meditation pose on the floor and reached out, seeking the source of the Force’s unrest.

It took longer than he wanted, as he denied the awkward stiffness as he concentrated in his seeking through the nebula of the living in the city, until he was sure it was in the _central_ part of the city. He quietly gathered the Force to steady him, seeking, needing to be sure it was not an Inquisitor.

What he found was familiar and he immediately shrank back, layering shielding like an onion over the fist-tight idea from avoiding Watto: that no one was here, nothing was interesting, important stuff was over there.

Then came the pain and dizziness as he forgot how to breathe again.

When he forced his lungs to move, to take at least short breaths that seemed to echo inside his rented room, the spots in his vision faded.

All that was left was shame.

That he had failed so badly again and had pushed that aside into rage and violence against those women who cared. 

Anakin collapsed to the floor and curled up into a ball, his head pounding and face burning with loathing.

He blamed his lethal anger at Padmé for a betrayal by Kenobi. He blamed Ahsoka for her betrayal of him, and anger he no longer understood. There was no one else present to blame.

Except himself.

He’d been so angry that she left, but he failed to protect her from the bomber and the Council. And he blamed her later when he fought her.

Trying to remove the guilt by killing her.

She’d gotten so tall and so strong over the years.

Without him.

In spite of him.

And yet she tried to connect with _Vader._

Anakin was so proud of her.

She was in Aldera and still alive. He’d always thought she knew to go to Padmé, but Bail was a good alternative. 

Anakin wanted to see her, to talk to her, to apologize for everything he’d done wrong.

But that ship left port on a dark night with explosion.

He didn’t deserve anything from her.

Ahsoka had to fear Vader and she _should not_ trust him and that was a hit to his gut.

He could not _stay_ here and resist hurting her more. She obviously went off-planet, but he didn’t feel it would be before the _Star_ left. He would have to look for another world because she deserved to be left alone by him.

Anakin mopped off his face and found the automatic bar. A couple of bottles later and he wasn’t drunk enough.

_-I’m sorry,_ _Snips_ _._ _You were right to go._ _-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I moved Ahsoka's confrontation a little sooner than the show's timeline implies. But for their character arcs five years wouldn't make much difference and it feeds this tale better.
> 
> NaNo is on. Posts will be down as I had no cushion for this tale.


	11. Lost Imperial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do Dyl's crewmates think?

Captain Huk didn’t say anything when Dyl staggered back onto the _Star_ not long before planetary dawn, reeking silently of booze and heartbreak. Dyl was quiet about most topics for a human.

Once a new human relaxed after a few jumps, they usually started talking, and every single human he’d ever met had some topic that opened the baffle and their beliefs roared through. Dyl would talk about ships and ship functions by the hour. But he rarely hinted of anything personal. Rarely hinted at where he served before.

Huk was sure as Dath was, that Dyl’s record was a tissue of lies. He knew his engines. He also knew his weapons and shields, and that didn’t fit his official record. But it didn’t take a genius to see that Dyl _was_ one, canny and efficient at his work, modifying the _Star_ effectively even when parts for a rarer model were harder to find on ports further from Corellia.

It wasn’t a crime to be quiet. No, it made the days of Jump crowded in with their cargo easier.

But it did not seem natural to the man the way his eyes flashed with sudden anger, eyes changing to hazel at times. But really, the blue eyes were stranger. He got angry less often as the months passed.

He had to be a fugitive of some kind. From Imperials for sure, with how he wore a rebreather concealing his mouth whenever he went aground. Someone, somewhere, knew his face or voice. He’d gathered several weapons and tinkered with the old blaster he found somewhere.

So far he’d done good work and he was a careful pilot.

Not right now of course. Now he slid down the bulkhead to sit with his head supported by his knees as he looked at the deck.

“You get in a fight in port?” he asked Dyl without any judgment. “Security after you?”

“No.”

“Get turned down by some amateur… or pro?”

Dyl’s head snapped up and his blue eyes were baggy and bloodshot. _**“No!”**_

“So what’s chasing you?”

He thought before speaking. “Former Jedi.”

Another pause and the Captain pressed. “Is this putting the _Star_ at Risk? I don’t want the Stormtroopers to start hunting us to get him.”

“I don’t think anyone’s in danger, unless they’re Imperials.” Dyl was clearly grieving.

So that said he _was_ an Imperial Navy man. Huk had run into others, in far worse shape than the braces and weak hand Dyl started with. The human recovered, but he wondered where he got the money for that.

Maybe that’s why he fled.

“Did the Jedi spot you?”

Dyl started to correct that, but shook his head. “No. I’ll stay on board until we lift.”

The Jedi had a magic to find trouble and Huk didn’t want that on _his_ ship.

But Dyl just slumped, worse than when they’d left Naboo. He’d let it go, but if it risked the _Star_ or Dath, the fugitive Imp would be grounded so fast his head would spin.

No one else but Huk knew their path more than one jump ahead, not even Dyl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few chapters are not from Vader's viewpoint.


	12. Solar Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader is beginning to drift, without a purpose beyond survival.

Vader didn’t care much about anything after Alderaan, and the entire crew knew without his saying. Weeks and then months passed and he barely noticed. The only time Vader wasn’t in a grey haze, was when the Aqualish Captain let him pilot.

That was when he wanted to pilot into the wildspace, to find something- or to get away-.

His promise to his mom was the only thing he had left. Anakin was too, too late to take her away, but maybe she could look down on the free and green from above.

Maybe he could keep _one_ promise.

Maybe she might be proud of one thing again after his failures.

Rebels attacked, Stormtroopers destroyed them, cargoes flowed, and he didn’t care. He’d check each world _the Distant Star_ landed on, often without leaving the ship. A few might work, but each had a problem. Too many troopers stationed here. Desert world. Ice world. Unending city. Hated humans. Forget Hutt space completely. No green or water. None felt right in the Force, a place she would like.

He started logging them in a padd, wishing for Artoo’s _help._

Kriffin’ silence, he wanted Artoo’s _company._

He started drinking when they hit port. Not in Cantinas like spacers did, drinking in the corner of the engine room. Didn’t affect him much, it just made being grounded more tolerable.

“Hullwred, enough is enough.” Dath’s presence loomed a long moment before she nudged his leg. 

Anakin groaned. He wasn’t unconscious, he wasn’t really drunk either. He just didn’t want to deal with anything. He’d put out his queries when they’d first docked, and then started drinking.

Dath shoved his legs toward the wall, alarm growing. “I don’t have time for your sulking, Dyl! Whatever happened or almost happened on Alderaan is past. I need to know right now if you’re combat capable.”

Vader pulled himself upright with a hand fisted at his hip and glared. “I’ve _always_ been combat ready for the last twenty years.”

That left Dath looking at him doubtfully. “We’ve got a hot cargo and may need to see some combat, maybe running a blockade through one of those corporate fleets. You’re not up to it, we won’t- _this_ time.”

“What’s the cargo? Spice?” Vader’s thoughts were sharpening.

“No. It’s medical supplies, but it might be Spice soon. There’s been a crackdown and lotta our competitors have been impounded if not scuttled.”

Smelling the whiskey on his own breath, Vader could almost see the appeal. But he wasn’t that stupid yet. “Gimme an hour or two and I can get us through a combat zone. I’m better at piloting than cannons.”

He could feel his mood improving at the thought of combat.

Their next jump left them at some mining world was surrounded by a mix of corporate and Imperial ships. It looked like a blockade, reminding him of the first one he went through over Naboo.

He’d been so scared and even more excited. Could he be that again?

The _Star_ was not a big ship and no ship attempted contact. A warning was all over the public channels:

“ _ **...me of the Emperor, this planet had been interdicted by the order of Lord Inanis. No ships may land here without the Emperor’s permission.”**_

Anakin’s eyes lit up and he began to grin.


	13. Land of Moss and Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smuggling is routine, enlivened by the occasional blockade. Revisiting one world reveals one change that bothers even a former Force-user, and he must know more.

Vader didn’t like Spice, didn’t like dealing with the bantha-heads who used it or the ones who played their games with those addicted. They made themselves slaves to the drug, doing anything for another dose, selling themselves even if they weren’t slaves. They spread their violence and disorder, especially in the Mid- and Outer Rim.

Strangely, the Emperor disapproved of his solution to end the nuisance. But he never said why, he just ordered Vader to desist.

Now, shipping loads from Kessel to other ports for distribution was profitable even if risky. Shipping high grade medical supplies got far more attention from the Imperials. They didn’t ship it often, every five or six months, but it paid for a major upgrade to the _Star_ in one run.

Those runs left him in a good mood for months. First came the anticipation and preparation. During the run came the excitement, where he calculated and recalculated extremely close jump points to minimize exposure. He had droids cross check him, but he always _knew_ when it was right. The checks were to appear careful as much as appear less capable. 

The thrill of flight, the risk and danger, dodging through security forces left him on a buzz for weeks. Once they made delivery, came the weeks of upgrades and he almost never left the work, Dath mocking his grease with a smirk.

These runs fed a hunger he’d missed. But once they had finished all his suggested upgrades, his own nest egg had grown and he began to consider getting his own ship, despite the higher profile. 

He missed the _Twilight,_ and even now, wondered what happened to it. 

If he wanted to get his own ship, he’d need a partner he could count on. Someone he could trust with at least some of his secrets. Dath and Huk avoided the risky situations, that Anakin could find without trying. Vader _was_ the problem, he didn’t bother to avoid anything. After all that, he’d lost both the ability to trust, and lost anyone… who was strong enough to handle that past. The other crew never pushed for details, but they _didn’t_ want to hear about the war that was the workshop for his defects.

His life is and was all about that war, even more than a decade later. Some days he woke up, thinking they were under fire. Some nights he walked through a parade of white-clad corpses with an infinite array of injuries and other bodies in simple tunics he refused to look at, all younger than what his child should have been by now. He always ached after those dreams. 

More nights, phantoms of Padmé and the baby came and tried to speak to him before she fell, clutching at her neck and changing color from lack of air.

After _those_ nights, he didn’t sleep for days, training through the ship’s night. When they were deeply asleep, he used his saber, even though the synthetic crystal fought him. Collecting parts for a training droid was nothing.

He checked more worlds for Her memorial out of habit, but he began to fear that the Force was not going to help him and reason left him cold. Wobani was dead, Lothal was too dull and too active, and the Hosnia planet and moons were too arrogant and crowded. Shmi would not approve.

The next major cargo drop was on Romin, a Mid-Rim he hadn’t seen in years. It had been one mission he remembered well, despite how angry he’d been at the time. The ruler and his crime lord friends kept everyone else walled out of the city where the palaces were. Even the Hutts were more accessible, he hated that. The undercover mission found out the abuses and removed Roy... whatever his name was, not long before her death.

If only the Jedi would have stepped up for Tatooine, too.

Diving into the market notices and entertainments for spacers on the local holonet, it did not take long for Anakin to decode that some kriffing Leader started a market in slaves. Active by the size and transactions shifting as he read the notices.

Shmi’s memorial would be _here_ , only if he could burn it all to the ground. That would be a good memorial.

He would not, though.

He wasn’t a Jedi to _fix_ anything.

_ What happened here?  _ He did not remember any Imperial action and the market spaces were too well worn to be recent. “I’m going ashore, Captain.”

Huk’s eyes blinked extra slow. “Something specific? This is a seedy port, best traveled in squads.”

Vader smiled without humor. “I had many solo missions during the war. I want to know what changed and why. _This_ _will_ _not_ _take_ _me_ _long_ _._ ”

The captain almost froze, looking at Vader’s face. “You aren’t going to do some fool attack and draw the Imperials on us?”

Vader took a deep breath. He thought of his goal. “No. There were no slaves here fifteen years ago. I knew people here. I will find out _something_ , without involving the _Star._ Leave without me if you think I’ve drawn attention. I’ll meet you on Subterrel in four months.”

Looking doubtful, Huk warned Vader. “We’re leaving in thirty-six standard hours. I’d rather you get drunk instead, Dyl.”

That was understood. He stopped in his alcove and strapped on his weapons as well as a vouchers for a dummy account he’d been building. He no longer underestimated how much credits could smooth his way. He took a quick look at himself, his stained coverall and belt made him resemble many spacers, he could not pass himself as a golden local with his now pale skin. He really did not want their golden eyes and flattened sinus area. The scar on his face had softened at some point when he hadn’t noticed. He grabbed the silent antique rebreather he still wore over his face when out. Saber was tucked in his boot

Leaving the _Distant Star_ , the Force began to warn him of trouble rushing closer.

Walking the streets of Eliior, they looked clean and neat with colorful mosses softening hard edges and aging surfaces. Beings of several races, mostly broad-nosed Romin and after that humans, were in decorative but functional janitorial uniforms. 

He could feel the transmitters in most every local shouting at him through the Force.

His prosthetic never unclenched from a fist.

Striding through the market, slaves minded the fresh food stalls, and most were too young or too broken to know what he wanted. The Force led him past the spaceport and commercial district and gradually into the cheapest bulk storage. Just as the old and heavily mossy-gray warehouses began to look less than stable and street cleaners only a far memory, Vader knew he was being watched.

His observer wasn’t in sight, video feeds were spare away from the richer streets at the moment.

They had not closed and he reached out to lead them to a good place to spring the ambush.

As he strode further into the still massive slums and passed streetwalkers he didn’t want to think about, he slowed to stop at a Cantina for an expensive bottle. His watcher had not gotten bored with his seemingly aimless walk. Slowing, he moved almost aimlessly toward a grimy open area pretending to be a park or gray and shattered urban blight.

Even the gray and red mosses on the light poles looked shaggy and dead here. They probably dropped bits onto the deep gray benches in darkening sky. It didn’t matter right then. He opened his bottle and took a smaller swig than it appeared and finally chose a bench. He kicked back and forced himself to relax.

They would come out.

He continued to sip, though some spilled.

A surge of anger and a woman a little younger than him stood within range, her blaster out and held steady. “Stupid Jedi. Everything got worse after you came through with your high ideals. You cost me _everything_.”

No panic came from facing this self-destructive fool. Vader’s voice and breath were paced by old remembered crutches. “There are _no_ Jedi left. You are hardly the only one to lose everything.”

“ _I don’t care._ You removed our _leaders_ and _worse_ piles of dung came in. Making us a discreet pleasure world for the rich and powerful and cruel. My mother died from one of the Moffs and his entertainment.” She fired and fired again and again, her face wet.

She knew too much, hated as much as he, dark, even with no presence. She felt over the edge of madness.

His saber out, he blocked her shots back as he moved toward her. 

Fear exploded as she noticed the crimson color. She kept firing despite the shots hitting her.

Her eyes widened when he crossed the open space. The woman tensed and her firing slowed.

Vader pushed her blaster aside. “There are no more Jedi. There are only Sith.”

_ She carried a detonator inside her. _

His voice was strained. **“The Force will** **make** **you free.”** Thrusting his saber into her heart, the woman died.

Summoning her blaster he put it back in her hand, his feelings cold and dead again.

He scanned the square for incriminating evidence before leaving for the port.

He knew enough.

He was leaving.

Returning to the _Star_ discreetly, Dath guarded the ramp with a scowl of her own. “Back this soon? It’d be nice if you’d told the Captain _why_ you were jumping ship, old man.”

That made Anakin pause in his exhaustion, understanding how old he felt. How old _he_ must have felt when pestered after a solo mission. How he really didn’t give a kriff to make them feel better.

Finally he gritted out, “Checked on people I knew during the war. Attacked by an insane slave, who’s dead. She did not want to live, but revealed enough.”

The First Officer looked doubtful. “Stay on board then, we don’t have much of a legal fund.”

He waved that off, as he had to think. By the time they reached their next port, he’d discarded a dozen plans to destroy slavery there. It seemed more than twice the number of worlds embraced it openly. How many tolerated it?

This was not order and justice he was promised. Romin was even more corrupted, the powerful having no fear.

He might as well have stayed on the planet of his birth. At least that cruelty was in the open.

Slavery spreading, without notice by outsiders stuck in his craw.

Their second port, he arranged a thoroughly anonymous data packet sent to a Viceroy. There, _She_ was always up for a fight if it was right.

Nor was he sure if this data was a gift or a curse to that presence. 

But he felt better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over halfway on NaNo, but this year is a struggle. I'm thinking about five more chapters, unless I get a better ideaTM.


	14. The Loneliness of Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dyl is haunted by dreams of his loved one's deaths and a deep apathy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter updated with minor tweaks. 12/12/17

Cargoes were profitable of late, but Vader was getting wary. The Force echoed of coming pain. Not immediate, like capture. The cargoes at smuggler ports were getting riskier with not only Spice, but also weapons. Some crews left him wary, dangerous or moles for the Empire.

His dreams weren’t about the Empire or even the stray Inquisitors he’d spotted, the nightmares hit harder than that. Nightmares of Mustafar came at least once a week. Over and over like some holo with tragic music, the grand music he always hated, he choked his reason for living. Then he didn’t lift a finger to get her help. He _knew_ there was no local help, that was only imported later for his ‘castle.’ The fight with the Jedi was a bare whirlwind, dim and unimportant compared to her pleading that they escape. She was so light and bright in the Force, like looking at the midday twin suns of his birth.

But he had to admit it now, the Jedi was not nearly as bright, also dimmed by pain. He was so sure he’d easily defeat the injured Jedi. But Obi-Wan’s pain wasn’t from an injury. He was _the Sith-killer,_ who fought through pain before.

Again and again, Padmé's life was flickering, his hand was out with meaningless words spilling out. He forgot she never backed down in a fight and threatening her was the worst idea.

He forgot.

He choked her.

He watched himself, over and over, wanting to make another choice, any choice that left her and their baby alive.

The Jedi even faded into the background for months. He was as he always was. Padmé _tried_ to convince him, as she always was.

Every nightmare, he was the one who changed, the one left alone in flames.

But this was an old nightmare, as far back as those events. A newer nightmare came from much earlier. Older and newer blended to make him sick. 

He was clearing out the cargo hold on the _Distant Star_ for a new cargo. He hadn’t been part of negotiations for months. He didn’t want to know anything about rebels or Imps and had just gotten back from the Cantina.

But it wasn’t sealed weapons or more Spice. These were cramped cages, holding humans, Torgruta, and Rylothians. One looked so much like his mother , trying to protect a cheerful blond padawan-aged boy from an overseer.

V ader confronted Huk and Dath, his fists shaking. “You  _ said _ we would not deal with sleemos like this.”

The Captain puffed and stiffened his stance, ignoring the tools rising and swirling with Vader’s anger. “Cargoes are drying up in this sector, even for Spice. These worlds kowtow to the Imps and their hungers. We carry this, and we can escape back to the Rim. Start a charity, whatever you want with your share. But ‘live cargo’ is the most tolerated high profit cargo now. These are all valuable cargo.” 

“Better, Imperials won’t impound us or our cargo if they find us. It’s safer to not get caught in their war. If we make friends of some Moffs, you might even get that stupid monument you’ve been gassing about for years. What are two humans against that?” Dath looked guilty, but she didn’t change.

“Two humans? Two Twi’leks? Two Wookies? Perhaps you should have checked the closer danger!” Vader had enough, and choked them both in an old red haze. The Dark filled him with power; they floated up in delicious fear and were sliced in half. Other times he tortured them before they died. Other times the Dark filled the ship like a dense gas, and when they died all the slaves were dead, too.

He wept as he touched her hair one more time. The boy belonged with her, his fingers stained by dark oil.

Sometimes it took hours before he was sure none of it had happened.

The only reason he had not acted on the nightmares disguised as Foresight was that his mother and himself did not fit. But he could not act friendly toward them anymore.

Dath came to himlater, hesitant. “Dyl. Is something wrong?”

“It’s time to move on.”

“I was getting worried that you have been getting colder, less willing to be social. Even for you. You aren’t even making a serious effort toward your cenotaph for months.”

Vader sighed. “I don’t want to give it up, but- my dreams remind me you have different goals. My goals will require time between missions for a build. I’m leaving at the next port, and I suggest you stay away from the Imps. They will ruin your life for amusement drawing you into their abuse to become as they.”

She thought a moment before speaking and brushed her beard, an old pang for him. “We had not expected you to stay as long. You’ve done well, and the _Star_ is far better than when you signed on. We’ll pass the word that you’re good.”

Vader relaxed at her sensible words.

“Huk and I would liked to know why you were running so hard. It’s clear you were in the Navy and got burned, from your distrust. You must be really wanted. Who were you?” No malice was evident.

Still Anakin did not want t go back into that slavery. “Maybe I tell you before I go.”

They reached an active hub and he didn’t care about references because he was changing names again. He’d get a ship or passage to a place with a decent shipyard.

He knew he _should not_ name it _Twilight._

Dath cornered him when the hold was nearly empty. “ _Who are you?_ ”

He didn’t really give a damn today. The only thing he had left to lose was his life. Maybe he could finally see his mother, see his wife or never-born child.

The only thing he was fairly sure was that his old Master had not been executed. That would have been all over the Empire’s propaganda. But that wasn’t the only way to die.

His smile didn’t feel happy. “I know the Empire from the top.” He lifted her up with the Force, resisting the dream memory. “I was Vader.”

Her fear flooded the cabin.

“I commanded men who once trusted me into death to make fear for the Empire. I helped destroy worlds and peoples. I lost everyone I cared about because of the words of the Emperor who said it would make me powerful enough to protect my family. I fled because he is much more powerful than me. I still had hope before my family died in his plots when he took power.”

Her voice was weak. “Were you a Jedi?”

“Once.” Anakin dropped her to the floor, half hoping she’d kill him. “I thought the Emperor was benevolent and good, that he was _**better**_ than the corruption of the Senate and Jedi.”

Dath snorted a laugh. “That worked out good.”

“I am aware of that. I left when that sank in.”

“Are there any Jedi left?”

He dropped to the floor, eyes filling as a screeching sob ripped from his chest. “I don’t think so. Almost all are confirmed dead and _my brother_ must be dead too.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by a Ed Goeman quote.


	15. Land of Grit and Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin leaves to get his own ship, find his own way. It's not like he has anything else to do. Maybe he can catch some racing?

He gathered his personal tools and a few other things into a larger satchel and walked down the ramp.

The _Distant Star_ still had the same profile, and when he looked back up at it, he didn’t feel the same pangs as he did about leaving other ships like the _Twilight_ and his customized fighter behind. _The Twilight_ was one of the few things in the galaxy that he ever truly felt was his. _The_ _y_ registered it subvertly, and occasionally another would use it, but that was rare. He maintained, repaired it, and lost it. He could not say how many arguments were followed by him being up to his armpits in grease and hydraulics until he calmed down. He could modify it all he wanted, as long as it functioned.

Fewer memories remained for the fighter. He’d never really given it a name, it was only a tool. Like he was, only a tool instead of a person.

_H e was a person..._

“… And my name is Anakin.”

He stalked away, looking for a Cantina, a secure one for a day or two. ‘Dyloj’ served his purpose, but he knew it was time for a new ID. Soon he was setting himself up as a… freelance bounty hunter and body guard, free roaming as they all were. ‘Basse Hunt’ would set up away from the _Star’s_ haunts. No one would over-question him, he knew too many Fetts to not be able to imitate them.

First he had to get a ship with his new identity at one of the shadow ports, maybe Instrop or Ferra sectors, like Vlemoth Port. Port Bianco looked as nearly good, but there were fewer routes going there. That should have made Bianco better for a memorial, further away from Naboo.

But he could not bear going that way.

He did not know if it was trickle he felt from the Force, or deep need to visit her grave again despite the risk. To see her unchanging and serene face, unlike his memory of her pain-contorted face that was truth of when they parted. His hands offered no comfort in time- only the anger she’d worried about.

Anakin’s eyes were burning as he shook with the need to smash something.

Instead he went down to the bar and Basse found a brawl and thrown into his room with threats and warnings about paying for the damages. Blue eyes stood out on a bruised and swollen face when he booked a cheap passage for the aging and long non-orbital Vlemoth Base. He preferred cosmopolitan ports with relatively fewer humans and this one had a known mercenary base.

The Muun presence wasn’t as clear until he passed through customs, almost all that race. Not lying did not make them trustworthy with their Imperial-approved Banking Clan, and he no longer towered over them as Vader. He knew that one had been a Sith, so he tightened his shielding as he passed through the cramped halls.

Before he took the lift down to the trade concourse, he looked out the huge windows to the river and nearby city of Shanshur Flats. He could get by outside the hull of old station if he had to, but he wanted a ship.

His _own_ ship.

Finding a G9 available like the _Twilight_ was a little too much to expect, but something he could get by without a co-pilot would do. A kiosk had directions to dealers, and he did not want to wait. Several days of haunting the dealers and they knew his interest in smaller ships. They offered drinks, loans, and even whores to get his attention, before they understood that the ships were all he cared about.

No, there was no G9 Rigger close to operational for sale. He wanted it, he could even pretend it was another long destroyed, but it would take months and more repairs and time than he could afford. He had to be away before that, this place wasn’t safe without backup.

Anakin knew that.

Some Mando mercenaries looked at him oddly, but he didn’t feel any recognition in the Force. They looked at a scrapped and repaired VSX he’d been considering, but it really needed a bigger crew. He pointed out a problem on the turret to Mandolorean who reminded him of… it didn’t matter, _not_ anymore.

He was looking at one of those bulky flying bricks again. It needed some repairs, but nothing that would take long. Combat-ready systems were a plus, also it didn’t require a copilot. He wanted an astromech again, but... he wasn’t sure any could measure up to Artoo. He might look later, after he had his ship.

There were other ships in port for repairs or sale, larger and smaller, many similar to each other. Another YT like the _Distant Star_ had a rare free Wookie growling at a mechanic, but he avoided them now. He knew the YTs well and was very comfortable with their limitations and strengths, but he was done with being the engineer, Dyl. A YV had a similar silhouette, but was smaller. It still suggested two crew, but it had better sensors and backups for exploration.

It almost _called_ him.

He had enough, without forcing a deal and making Basse Hunt more memorable. Close examination and haggling got him his ship, and Shadow port registrations weren’t worth a credit. Records showed that it had been the _ISS Intruder_ , and that name brought up memories he wanted buried.

Though it _might_ be useful at some point.

The YV560 had been renamed _Cataphract_ more recently, and the Force screeched at that name, and for an instant he felt the armor and breather again before he rejected them. Anakin controlled his breathing, taking deep breaths until he could look at the form again. _That_ _name_ _was changing._

Checking the chrono, he had three days to finish repairs and prepare before docking fees started. He wanted to be out in one, this was already the longest he’d been in one place since his surgeries.

The hours passed without him noticing, but even the disruptive delivery of consumables didn’t throw him out of his calm. He wasn’t serene, it was more melancholy and regret, unending, that all he had to show for his life was an empty ship, after all the hopes his mother and Master Jinn had for him.

He found a name to remind him there had to be more than sith.

The _Infineon_ was ready to go, enough systems were wired to the pilot’s station to get by, and he was ready to get into the air again. And like that, he triple-checked everything and lifted the first ship that was legally and _truly_ his own since his pod-racer.

Hitting open space was like coming home now and he was so tired. Not tired enough to do anything stupid. He double-checked the Jump calculations for Andooweel and some racing, and he got his first deep sleep in days.

Anakin wasn’t slept out yet when he woke for the end of jump. He felt all his satisfaction reflecting around him in the Force as he waited for the Jump to end. 3.. 2..

“...right, you animals, get out of here, Imperial business.” The public comm was a strong signal, and sounded more bored than angry.

Anakin swore, Huttese with a few other choice things he’d picked up, and then back. He activated the shields with a hurried wave of his hand and reached out to feel his ship as he scanned near-space. No one had shot at him yet, but the cargo haulers would fire soon if they followed standard procedure.

_He had less than a minute._

Three Imperial ships were in a sloppy formation, cargo haulers with a small group of escort fighters that were lazily making turns toward the intruders. The other ships were a mix of ships, pirates or rebels didn’t matter, as the shooting started.

Unless the pirates had weapons upgrades there should be no question of the ending.

An interceptor swooped and shot at the _Infineon._

His ship rocking, Anakin slammed the comm. “Lay off, bolt head. I don’t even have weapons! I just came for some kriffin racing. Shoot each other up, see if I care.”

“The ship’s sweet enough. Give it over, and we’ll get you go.”

He hoped they didn’t really think he was that stupid.

Shield controls failed, with overloaded sparks and the glare of burning insulation flames. He smothered it with the Force while turning to a perpendicular of the fighter and evading it.

The _‘Fineon_ wasn’t maneuverable enough, no better then the _Distant Star_ _-_ not yet at least. Another shot grazed a dish before he went into Jump again.

He grabbed an extinguisher and tools to open the console. By the time it was clear and cool, the damage made him want to break something. He’d have to replace the whole thing or do a lot of rebuilding to the shield control and monitoring chassis. Buying it would be faster.

Anakin ran his fingers through his hair, he still hadn’t been able to assess any other damage yet.

The Jump chime rang.

So soon.

_Too soon._

There below him, from a medium orbit, was Tatooine.

His angry shouts should have reached the Imperial Center, despite the vacuum.

With a pounding head and sweaty skin Anakin felt as stiff as a droid as he finally queried about parts. No names bandied on open comms sounded familiar, so he chose some shop run by someone named Fixer out of Tosche Station. He didn’t need the help, but he’d get less attention there than if he set down in Mos Eisley.

He should visit _her_ grave, despite whatever Clieg and Owen wanted to say to him. But he wasn’t ready. Wasting water in tears was disapproved here.

No wonder the Temple wasn’t that bad a transition sometimes.

He took a long shower to cool down and overdrank before he landed. The kid at the station counter worked on a hydraulics line, flushing it out.

Anakin as Basse was careful to avoid checking for an implanted transmitter on the boy. “I need some parts to rebuild my shields, I might want a main circuit pan if its not too much.”

“I can do that for you, sir. I’m the _best_ fixer in Tosche Station!” His eyes sparkled with bravado. And something else.

Basse looked at him doubtfully. “Really?”

The silence lasted a couple of beats before the youngling flushed. “Well, I have a couple of friends who are good, too. But they don’t do it for you, one’s going to the piloting academy as his dad’s got him a commission, and the Wormie’s stuck as a moisture farmer with his folks.” Jealousy was clear in the slight gloat.

Not that he wanted to encourage it, but Basse said nothing about the Imperials. “Not all _pilots_ attended a piloting academy.”

“No, no, Sir!” The boy’s dismay was clear. “Biggs’ father will get him in, but he’s real good. Luke’s family can’t afford that. They’re out racing their hoppers today with a bunch of us. They’re already the best pilots out here.”

Anakin missed racing. Hoppers weren’t the raw speed and power of pod racing, but they were more useful. “I haven’t seen live racing for years. Is the Boonta Eve still run?”

“We’ve got half a cycle to go, unless Jabba cancels it.” His eyes lit up despite his words. “We get you squared away, and we can see if they’re still flying...”

He wanted to be responsible, to get to work. He didn’t have his own hopper, and it would be meaningless to race someone Force-blind.

Anakin went anyway, his fists clenched so he didn’t try to snatch the controls of the landspeeder. Fixer introduced him to the other younglings, but his attention was caught by the hopper flying around the plateau they were on.

The tallest was shouting into the comm. “Luke, don’t get cocky after the Mesa! Slow down!”

Hopper ricocheting off the canyon, it spun in and panic and fear led the shouts into the air. A turbulent squall in the Force centered on the crash, and he rushed to the edge, as youngling voices shouted past him. At the edge, he slid down into the canyon, memories of flying through it coming back.

As he approached the hissing and smoking wreck, Anakin heard a voice from memory that put a rock in his gut. “...Your uncle would be _extremely_ disappointed in both of us if you managed to hurt yourself like this.”

“But, Ben, I’m fiiine...”

The boy looked up as Anakin skidded to a stop in exploding shock at his appearance. “Hi! I’m Luke Skywalker!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke, sounding worried. "Is he having a heart attack? Are _both_ of you? I'm calling Aunt Beru!" (did not happen, they lay off the saturated fats and salt...)


	16. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Anakin and Obi-Wan are on the edge of panic when they meet again. That can't be good, can it?

He looked at the boy. A few bloodied scrapes visible where the older man was checking the boy’s shoulder for more serious injury. He was dizzy seeing it from the outside and unbalanced, like everything was  _wrong._

Kenobi was nearing white haired, but he stepped quickly in between them with a hand out. “Stay back, Darth! There is  _**nothing** _ for you here!”

That made Anakin laugh, the fury of the Dark side clamoring for release. “Oh,  _really?_ Out here in the kriffin’ sand, I can easily hear the falsehood in that.” He raised his flesh hand with a surge of power to lift and choke Kenobi. “Maybe I just want to  _leave you_ the way  _you left me_ , that last time we faced each other!”

He’d dreamed of this for years, how his fingernails dug into his hand as the Jedi looked at him in shock… or maybe his brain would begin to starve for air. The fool didn’t even have a saber on his belt…

An impact of flesh, and he was rolling through dirt, rocks, and sand. Anakin looked up at the frightened face of the blond pilot boy. “Leave him alone!”

Everything drained out of Anakin, leaving him limp and hollow. When he reached up to touch the fair hair with his mechanical hand, the boy winced away. - _Shh...-_

He could feel the tension from the Jedi, but he just searched the boy’s face, looking for any sign of  _ her _ in the boy’s face. Maybe a bit about the eyes, but the earnest fear and determination was so familiar even if the tan and bleached hair were mirror-familiar, matching  _ him _ more. “..I could never hurt you, boy. I didn’t even  _ know _ I was searching for- Force, I missed you!” Anakin reached up to hug his son close to him, feeling his face get wet from forbidden tears.  _ -Never, never, never...- _

_ He had a son. _

The boy.. Luke was stiff in his arms, but Anakin did not want to let him go.

The Jedi grunted, and Anakin felt the Force moving around them. “I think it’s all right, Young Luke. Your friends are almost here, and your aunt and uncle will worry if they hear of this incident from  _ someone else. _ ”

Luke scrambled free, panic on his face. “Uncle Owen is going to  _ kill _ me. I’m going to be stuck on the farm until I’m forty!”

A skimmer with excited and chattering younglings roared into earshot, Anakin just looked at his son while grinning.

Obi-Wan touched his own neck, his voice rougher. “Your uncle will be disappointed with you, but angry with me. I doubt it will matter for that long. Run along home with your friends. I will explain to him later.”

Anakin scrambled to his feet, and started to follow.

“I think not.” Obi-Wan’s tension was clear in his voice, but he stood tall and calm. “I believe we have things to discuss first, Darth.”

“Please don’t call me that.” Anakin made a face and looked toward the younglings chattering at Luke and pulling him onto the speeder.

“What should you be called? You are no longer a Jedi Knight.”

“I’m no longer Palpatine’s fist either. I… ran off maybe five years ago. His new patsy I’m sure wants to present my dead body as proof of their loyalty.”

The silence stretched out and Kenobi’s arms were crossed in thought. His robes were still recognizably those of a Jedi master. Here they didn’t stand out that much. “Surely you do not use your birth name?”

Anakin snorted, feeling a little more at ease. “No, I was Dyloj, an engineer on a smuggler ship for most of my time free. I just picked a new name when I left that crew. I’m still not sure if that bounty hunter on Naboo was looking for Skywalker or Vader.”

“What are  _ you _ looking for?” Kenobi’s voice was cold. “You weren’t expecting me.”

Anakin looked away at the ground as a breeze blew some dust. “Get this, I needed  _ parts _ to  _ repair the ship _ after avoiding a combat. _ Here! Here… Where it all began.” _ He stopped with a choking laugh. “What  _**I’m** _ looking for? Nothing, everything. I don’t know what. Becoming a Sith didn’t… answer anything. Being the Jedi Chosen One even less.”

“I am sorry that you did not find the answers you wanted and needed.”

“I mourned Padmé and our child for so long… Not feeling anything was so much easier than thinking or feeling or hurting. I realized a part of me pretended they were waiting somewhere for me to finish with my enemies But she was gone and I could never even  _ grieve _ as Vader, like a person.” He looked up to stare at him.  _ “Even kriffin’ Jedi grieve.” _

Obi-Wan breathed deeply. “Yes. We do. And we have had so much to grieve.”

Vader started to get angry at the man who crippled him. But it drained away with the sorrow he felt in the Force around the Jedi. “Finding Luke changed everything, Kenobi. Owen’s his uncle?”

“It seemed safer with the reward for any Jedi’s, any Force-sensitive’s capture. He was bright from birth, too bright to leave any where near the Core.” Obi-Wan was speaking carefully, like on a dangerous mission.

“I suppose you’ve taught him to hate me, the better to make new and better weapon against the Sith?”

“Don’t be absurd. All he asks for are tales about Anakin Skywalker, the hero. I have more than enough for the next ten years, the little I see him. He will grow out of them before that happens.”

“You have not been teaching him. Is he not _too old_ by your precious Code?”

Fingers brushed the mostly white beard. “I thought he would be safer with his family. I doubted I would be here long, and a fugitive life is not good for the young. The Code is a memory.”

 _Anakin could feel that he was still omitting something._ “He has raw power, even if it is still unfocused. Was that how I...?”

That made him smile. “Indeed. Young Luke has similar potential, but he _never_ knew slavery personally. The Lars are very protective. Owen in particular believes _I_ put the boy at risk. My experience comes from bringing him back after he finds trouble, unaware as Mr. Lars is of how supposed ‘luck’ swirls around Skywalkers.” He looked out to the sands for a long moment. “I’d thought the Emperor or his new apprentice had killed you. I thought I’d never know...”

His voice was tentative.

The former Sith clenched and unclenched his left hand, now with only newer scars. Not the same hand that pulled each of them from various cliffs. “I lived in bacta for almost a year from what _**you**_ did. This hand never touched my wife, but this one choked her. Did I- did she…?”

“Her throat was badly bruised, but that was not a problem during Luke’s birth. She named him, insisted there was still good in you, and then...” Kenobi choked on his own. “Her life force just drained away, there was no medical reason. Since then I wandered if she gave up. There was a pall of Darkness everywhere. I didn’t know how to stop or slow her passing, neither did anyone else.-- I tried to feed extra energy from the Force, but… _it wasn’t helping_. Didn’t have much left after all the fighting. I would have given my own arm if I could have had Che or Bant there, but.” He swallowed another sob, old panic threatening still. “I’d already seen them in the Temple before I went to Mustafar.”

Anakin was having trouble breathing as well. He could almost see it happening now. “ _Anyone else_?”

“Bail had a top medical droid, and then got us passage away from the medical center. We needed to keep Luke hidden from the Emperor, from the Sith, for his safety.”

Anakin turned away, feeling the truth in the words he spoke, as much as he hated it. He may not have done the final blow as Sidious told him, but his fingerprints were all over her death. No hospital, choking her, too early delivery, no Force-healers, and smothering darkness, all were consequences of his decisions.

He’d shoved it, like everything else on the Jedi. That everything was to _spite_ him _._

Obi-Wan's hand gripped Anakin’s shoulder with the slightest delay. “He is much like you at this age, mad about piloting and speed, though I don’t think they can afford any droids. He has more friends, and he has his mother’s innate kindness and justice. Both of you should be proud.”

He tensed when his old Master _touched_ him, for the first time in many years, for the last time in many thousands of connections. His next breath made him feel like he was deflating, someone wanted to touch _him._

_Someone who_ **knew** _**him** _ _._

Without a thought, he turned and threw his arms around Obi-Wan, tucking his head against the older man. “I missed you so much, Master. It was so many years before I could even _think_ it, but I always felt it. An empty hole. A-and Padmé was right, we had a son. I was convinced we were having a girl.”

He was trying not to sob at all the years lost.

Obi-Wan’s presence brushed against the younger man and hesitated at the faltering shields.

Suddenly, that hesitation became a deep tension in the Force and Anakin almost stopped breathing from fear for what the Jedi would say next.

“Shh, Padawan.” Obi-Wan rubbed his back and hummed, comforting despite the height difference. He took another breath. “You were both right.”

Then Anakin _did_ stop breathing as the Force sang around them and a hundred questions came together. “Ahsoka is watching over my daughter, isn’t she?”

Kenobi paused as well. “Yes. Two Force-sensitives living together without control seemed too much a risk. So they were placed with trustworthy families with some similarity to their parents’ childhoods. As much as you hated sand, Tatooine left you very self-reliant and resourceful, and I knew the Lars would care for your son. Your appearance here, like this, makes that ability clear.”

Anakin Skywalker let go and looked at him, sad at how much he had aged here on this stupid rock. He looked older than Dooku at the end, worn away, looking after his son. How could have that have meant Obi-Wan hated him?

Biting his lip, Anakin ran fingers through his hair. “Can I meet her, too? As myself, not...”

“It will not be easy for you. You would not know it, but Padmé is considered one of the founders of the Rebellion. And her daughter takes after her in that, with a fire she got from you both. We feared that you would harm her if you had continued in the Dark.”

That girl that resembled Padmé was a warning from the Force, but he was too slow to listen to it that day. “I probably would have. I… I don’t know if I can resist Palpatine, Master. He knows all the things that trigger my anger and fear. And I have not been _that_ useful tool for years that he would bother a second time. His apprentice would love to execute me as proof of loyalty. I was no Chosen one. I’m _sorry,_ Obi-Wan. For everything I kriffed up. I don’t know what to do anymore.” _Help me, Master, please. I’m afraid of drowning again._

_-Shh, Anakin. We can take the time to do it right… for you to heal, my brother.-_ Obi-Wan’s joy was clear in the Force. “First, you meet Luke properly. His uncle has spent great efforts to keep him here where he is anonymous. After that, we can…”

Anakin felt warm, for the first time in too many years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of talk ahead and arguments, but this is the end of Childe Anakin's wanderings and he's learned to be himself, first. Now he can connect to family. This story is pretty much done, and Anakin's ship will now have a crew. I'm sure they will make for agents of change, but it will be on hiatus for a while. EDIT: There might be a sequel, but this was more his journey from Vader back to Anakin and learning to connect to others again.
> 
> Happy holidays! (a little belated) It's all about found and blood family, isn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars and characters are the property of Disney and Lucas. No infringement intended nor profit is made from this story.


End file.
